


High as a Pretty Star (don't you break my faded heart)

by emilyonstars



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Colorblind Soulmate AU, Eventual Romance, F/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-16 10:15:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11826636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyonstars/pseuds/emilyonstars
Summary: For Brienne, everything is grey.When she was a child, she used to sit with her father in the garden, he on the weather worn bench and she underneath the oak tree beside it in the grass. She used to ask him the colors for everything — the trees, the daffodils, the sky, the dirt — whimsical and optimistic, dreaming of when she would meet her soulmate and be able to finally see the colors herself rather than a spectrum of grey. She drilled them all into her memory, filing them away for a later date; a date that she now, as a disillusioned adult, knows will never come.





	1. Grey

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written in years, and my first Game of Thrones fic. The first chapter isn't very long since I'm still mapping out where I want this to go and it was a spur of the moment start. I really wanted to do a soulmate fic since I am trash for them and for Jaime x Brienne. I would love to hear any and all thoughts.

For Brienne, everything is grey.

When she was a child, she used to sit with her father in the garden, he on the weather worn bench and she underneath the oak tree beside it in the grass. She used to ask him the colors for everything — the trees, the daffodils, the sky, the dirt — whimsical and optimistic, dreaming of when she would meet her soulmate and be able to finally see the colors herself rather than a spectrum of grey. She drilled them all into her memory, filing them away for a later date; a date that she now, as a disillusioned adult, _knows_ will never come.

Now pushing thirty, Brienne has little to no hope over finding her soulmate. She knows that she’s not conventionally attractive; too tall with too broad of shoulders and a lack of overtly feminine features. The kids she went to school with would never let her forget it, always making her the butt of every joke, playing her for their entertainment, to settle bets and dares. Fortunately, adults are less blatant when it comes to insulting her in contrast to preteens and teenagers; they at least do it in hushed whispers behind her back rather than to her face. Brienne knows her prospects are low. Even if she was lucky enough to have a soulmate and to meet them, there’s no guarantee that everything would work out because sometimes it just doesn’t. Brienne’s not sure she would even want to take the chance, risk the heartbreak she fears would be sure to follow.

* * *

 

“Guess who can see color now?” says Margaery as she rounds the corner into Brienne’s tiny block of an office and plops herself down in the seat across from her desk, saving Brienne from her intrusive thoughts.

“Who?” asks Brienne, glancing up from the sad, limp salad she was picking at for lunch. Margaery doesn’t look ecstatic, so Brienne deduces that it couldn’t have been her, and this is just another daily serving of intra-office gossip.

“Robb Stark from finance,” Margaery answers, “and the new intern. Tarly from HR is in a panic.” Margaery leans back in the chair like she belongs there, slender legs crossed over each other, a conspiratorial grin of perfect white teeth on her face, looking as effortlessly beautiful as always. If Brienne was a petty person, she would hate her for it.

“I’m happy for him,” Brienne says blandly, pushing the soggy disappointment of her lunch away from her. Margaery doesn’t miss a beat, unaffected by Brienne’s blase tone, leaning forward in her seat.

“Guess what else,” she says in a hushed voice, like she’s telling a secret. Brienne raises a flaxen eyebrow in response. “Heard the CEO’s son just got a job in editing. Looks like you’ve got a new boss.” She grins, and then adds, “I’ve heard he’s _gorgeous_ ,” extending the syllables in what feels like an almost teasing manner. She glances down at her watch and stands up with a malcontented sigh. “I have to go,” she says, and turns to leave, but stops at the door to look back at Brienne. “Are we still on for happy hour?”

“Of course.” Brienne can’t help but smile. Even though she could care less about office gossip, she enjoys Margaery’s company nevertheless. Margaery smiles and slips around the corner and down the hall. Brienne listens as the click of her heels grow fainter and fainter before turning back to the nearly complete draft on her computer.

* * *

 

The office had been abuzz over Jaime Lannister all week —  Brienne’s colleagues murmuring about him in the women’s bathroom, at the water cooler, and in the communal kitchen over stale coffee —  “he’s _so_  handsome,” and “I heard he can’t see color.” Brienne managed to go the entire week without meeting him, the writing department running rampant as everyone tries to put final edits on their work before the next issue of _The Tri-National Times_.

Brienne doesn’t run into him until the end of the week when she literally _runs_ into him on the way back from the printer; the comprehensive article she painstakingly wrote on water shortages in Meereen falling to the ground like confetti at their feet as she barrels into him after taking the corner too quickly.

“Seven hells,” he hisses, hands shooting out on reflex, “Watch where you’re going.”

It feels like it happens in slow motion, as Brienne drags her eyes from his fancy leather loafers, to the perfectly pressed slacks and tailored button-down, all the way up to his face. Her apology dies a painful death in her throat.

Her co-workers hadn’t been lying; he’s devastatingly handsome, with a jawline sharp enough to cut yourself on and shampoo commercial hair. When Brienne makes eye contact with him, she stops breathing.

Everything is so vibrant it hurts — from the paint on the walls, to the framed magazine covers lining the hallway, to the rich color of his shirt and the shade of his eyes, alight with annoyance.

Nothing is grey anymore.

“Idiot,” he mutters as he brushes past her with an exasperated sound and rounds the corner behind her, leaving only the residual heat from his hands on her arms and a rising wave of panic that crawls its way up from her gut behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written more than a one shot before, so this is all new to me....  
> I'm really surprised that I was able to get another chapter out so soon. I'm a really slow writer.  
> So, anyways, here's chapter two, and I hope it's not too disappointing (:
> 
> I do want to note that my classes will start again come Tuesday, so there could be more of a delay between chapters, but I have somewhat of an outline for where I want this story to go, so hopefully that will help. 
> 
> Please tell me what you think!

When Brienne remembers how to breathe again, she rushes to her office, her paper left forgotten on the hallway floor, and slams the door shut behind her. With shaking hands she turns off the lights and sinks down into the carpet, pulling her knees to her chest. Everything looks the same and entirely different simultaneously. Her office overwhelms her, the colors she doesn’t have names for grating her senses. She squeezes her eyes shut — this is all too much. _This can’t be happening._ People like her don’t see color; she’d resigned herself to that years ago.

  
Brienne steadies herself with shaky deep breaths — one, two, three — and chances opening her eyes again. The colors swell all around her. _This is fine, you’re fine_ , she assures herself. She digs her fingers into the fabric of her pants, trying to ground herself. _Your soulmate’s just your boss,_ she thinks scathingly, _no big deal_.  
She replays their meeting over and over again in her head until she feels like she’s going to be sick. His irritated expression, the way he pushed past her, entirely unaffected as her world was capsized. The reality of the situation washes over her like a tidal wave, cold as ice.

  
_He’s her soulmate, but she’s not his._

  
Brienne’s eyes burn. It’s remarkably rare, but sometimes soulmates don’t match. She buries her face into her knees as the tears well over. _What kind of sick joke is this?_ She could accept never having a soulmate — she had accepted that — but knowing she had one but she wasn’t his hurt more than she could have ever imagined. Brienne sobs, huddled on the floor in the dark recesses of her office until she can’t cry anymore. Until her eyes hurt and her head throbs, and no more tears will come.

  
When Brienne finally pieces herself back together and stands up, she realizes how late it’s gotten. The building is deserted, and she feels relieved. She doesn’t want anyone to know. No one can know. Her soulmate being out of her league is bad enough. Him being her boss is worse. But him being both and being unrequited is the worst case scenario, and she doesn’t think she could handle anyone knowing, especially not the gossipy vultures that are her colleagues.

The colors inside her office could never have prepared her for the colors outside of it.  
She drives home with her sunglasses on even though it’s dusk.

 

* * *

 

Brienne wastes her weekend hiding in her apartment.

  
She guiltily fibs her way out of Second Saturday Brunch with Margaery, feigning illness, and spends the day oscillating between sitting in the dark when everything overwhelms her again, and curiously observing all the colors she could never see before, trying to relearn what everything looks like now that it’s all so bright, so new. Her favorite flats are red — according to the manufacturer imprint on the sole — but so is the toaster, yet they’re not the same shade. Her duvet is blue, but the pillowcases are green. The apples she bought at the Farmer’s Market last weekend are red, and yellow, and green. She had no idea they looked like that. It’s astonishing.

  
On Sunday, she stares at herself in the mirror for what feels like hours. Her father, even after her mother passed away and everything went back to grey, used to tell her that she had her mother’s eyes, told her they were blue. They’re not as pale as the autumn sky outside her flat window, nor as vibrant as the blue on the duck printed shower curtain in her bathroom. She tugs at her hair where it curls under her ear. She could tell that her hair was pale, but she had no idea it was this diluted yellow-white color. Brienne’s not sure if she likes herself more or less now that she can see herself in color.

 

* * *

 

Brienne almost doesn’t recognize her at first when Margaery stops by her office on Monday morning, not having ever seen her in color before.

  
“Are you feeling better?” Margaery asks, sitting down in her usual chair, gazing at her with concern. Brienne’s guilt punches her in the gut. She has to bite her tongue to keep from telling Margaery everything. _No one can know_. She squashes the words back down her throat.

  
“Much better, thank you,” Brienne says instead. “How was your weekend?”

  
“I wish you could’ve been there.” Margaery heaves a grievous sigh and then launches into a recap of everything she missed on Saturday at brunch. “The waiter spilt an entire tray of mimosas on Loras….”

 

* * *

 

Actively avoiding Jaime Lannister proves to be near impossible. Now that Brienne wants anything but to see him, he’s everywhere — in the kitchen when she goes for a coffee refill, passing the bathrooms when she’s leaving them, at the printer when she goes to use the copier. She manages to narrowly evade him until during her lunch break when she’s rinsing out her tupperware in the communal kitchen.

  
Somehow, intuitively, she knows it’s him who’s behind her, and she tenses. A tanned hand reaches around her and places a coffee stained mug in the sink in front of her. He’s standing too close to her. She can feel his body heat radiate off him.

  
“Wash this for me, would you?” Jaime says cordially.

  
“I’m not your maid,” Brienne replies brusquely, refusing to look at him, half afraid that looking at him will ruin her ability to ignore him and pretend that none of this is happening. “Wash it yourself.”

  
He laughs at her, and Brienne’s eyes fly unbidden to his face. He leisurely slides his gaze over her, calculating, before meeting her eyes. She expects to see humor in his eyes, silently laughing at her, but instead they’re austere.

“You’re right; you’re not,” he says,“Even my maids look better than you.”

  
Brienne flushes, hot and cold. She’s used to digs at her appearance, but somehow this stings more. Jaime turns and saunters out of the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

He calls her into his office on Tuesday, and Brienne really is starting to feel like the Gods are laughing at her expense. She’s irrationally irritated long before she steps into his office, angry at this entire situation — angry that he, of all people, is her soulmate, that she’s not his, that she has to see him everyday and has to answer to him. They way he looks her over when she stalls in the doorway manages to irritate her further.

  
He gestures for her to take a seat across from his desk, a glossy, mahogany monstrosity and shuffles through a stack of papers. She sits down stiffly, watching him warily as he stands and walks around his desk to sit on it before her. She stubbornly stares at his shiny, expensive loafers. They probably cost more than her rent. His socks don’t match.

  
“Write it again,” he says, dropping a paper into her lap. She picks it up; it’s her article on Meereen’s water crisis that she turned in yesterday. “It’s pedantic.”

  
“What?” Brienne blurts out, against her better judgement. He’s your boss, she hastily reminds herself. She stares are her article — the article she spent a month working on, meticulously researching and constructing. The pages are as clean as when she handed it in. He hasn’t even bothered to annotate it.

  
“It’s pedantic,” he repeats, sounding exasperated like she’s wasting his time. “Dull, boring.”

  
“I know what pedantic means,” Brienne retorts.

  
“I almost fell asleep trying to read it.”

  
Brienne grits her teeth. This is her best work, and all he has to say about it is that it’s boring.

  
“I’m sorry, sir, that people dying of dehydration in the desert isn’t entertaining enough for you.” Brienne raises her chin defiantly and meets his eyes. His face is deliberately neutral.

  
A small, anxious voice in the back of her head wonders if she’s trying to get fired.

  
His lips quirk a bit. “Are you sure you went to school for this?” he asks, as if he didn’t get this position just because his daddy owns the magazine.

  
“Yes,” she replies, terse.

  
“Pity,” he says, smooth and unaffected. “I expect a new copy on my desk by Friday or I’m pulling it. You can go.”

 

* * *

 

Brienne is taking her frustrations out on the copy machine, having just kicked it viciously when she hears a quiet cough from the doorway. Standing there somewhat cautiously is Podrick from the mail room, staring at her with wide, brown eyes.

  
“Sorry to bother you,” he says, looking like he’s afraid she’ll kick him next, “but Mr. Lannister is looking for you.”

  
Brienne stifles a groan. “What does Jaime Lannister want now?”

  
“Not him.” Podrick coughs again, stepping back into the hallway. “His father.”

  
Brienne decides that the Gods must really hate her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question for you all: How would you like to see Cersei in this fic? I'm debating on how to go about Jaime and her relationship, and would love to hear what you all think before I solidify anything.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so so much for all the feedback! I really appreciate it. You guys are so lovely. 
> 
> Here's chapter three. It's on the short side, but I'm really looking forward to getting chapter four out soon and this is more of a stepping stone chapter before some significant relationship development. 
> 
> I'm so excited for episode 7x06 tomorrow. Did you all watch the leak or not? I'm so hyped. I'm going to "pregame" the episode with my brother by watching GoT interviews, so I don't know if I can get chapter four out tomorrow. Probably Monday. 
> 
> I look forward to hearing from you guys! Thanks again! Hope I don't disappoint.

Tywin Lannister is a formidable man, ruthless in his business pursuits, and certainly not someone you want to displease. He could ruin you in an instant. Brienne is on edge before she even knocks on the door. He looks as impassive as ever when he invites her in to have a seat. Brienne silently prays that he won’t fire her. Working for Tywin Lannister is a risk; being let go by Tywin Lannister is a death sentence. She might be able to find a job at  _ Hot Pies _ , if she’s lucky. 

“I did not call you here to chastise you,” he says coolly, apparently sensing her anxiety, “I called you here to offer you a promotion.” 

She stops trying to figure out how far her meager savings would stretch if she was sacked. 

“A promotion?” she echoes. The wave of relief is lightheadening. 

He gives an almost imperceptible nod. “Yes. I want you to be co-editor alongside my son. I’m sure you are aware that we will be expanding online come January.” 

He slides a packet across his desk. “You have proved yourself best suited for the position.”

Brienne thumbs through the contract. It’s nearly identical to the one she signed when she first signed on to work for  _ The Tri-National Times _ . She stills when she sees the salary. It’s thirty percent higher than her current one. She could finally put money toward her student loans. 

“I’m a very busy man, Ms. Tarth. Do we have an agreement?” 

* * *

 

The promotion takes into effect the following Monday. 

The editor’s office looks significantly different than the last time she was in it. Before it had been sparsely decorated with little more than the mahogany desk in the center of the room and filing cabinet in the corner. The desk has now multiplied, an identical one pressed back-to-back against it. There’s a leather couch off to the side against the ceiling to floor windows overlooking the city. There’s even a ficus in the right hand corner. In the middle of the room stands Jaime, a barely concealed look of contempt on his face, five feet away from his father. They’re speaking furiously in hushed voices. Brienne stills just outside the door, record storage box in her arms ladened down with the belongings from her old office. 

Tywin’s eye catches her hesitating in the doorway. 

“The decision is final,” he tells Jaime in a firm tone that reflects his words. 

Brienne steps aside to let him pass. 

She sets the box down on the desk on the left side of the room and begins unpacking it. She can feel Jaime’s glare burning into her. 

“Glad I didn’t eat breakfast this morning; it’s too early to be looking at the likes of you,” he spits. Brienne squares her shoulders and looks up. She’s half glad that he makes hating him so easy. It makes their situation less painful to bear. 

“As if it’s a pleasure to be around you,” she retorts. 

“I could make it one,” he says suggestively, but his eyes are like steel. 

Brienne hopes she isn’t making a mistake. 

* * *

 

It doesn’t even take a week for Brienne to regret the promotion. 

She’s hardly able to get any work done, for when Jaime isn’t antagonizing her, he’s watching her, and Brienne isn’t sure which worse. She’s constantly agitated, and he doesn’t miss a beat when it comes to snarking at her, meeting everything she says with a caustic response.  

“Could you pass the stapler, please?” 

“I’m sure your freakish gorilla arms can reach it just fine.” 

By the end of the week, Brienne is wondering how fast she could get fired if she punches him in the face. 

 

* * *

 

Brienne drops into the seat across from Margaery in the cafeteria with a long-suffering groan. She used to eat lunch in her office most of the time, catching up on emails and just generally enjoying the solace of her own company. She now refuses to spend any extra time in her and Jaime’s shared editor’s office — seven hours of his company is more than enough. 

“Rough day?” asks Margaery, thinly veiled humor in her eyes at Brienne’s suffering. “More trouble in paradise?” Brienne feels a twinge of shame for complaining yet again. 

Nevertheless, Brienne growls, “I hate him.”  

“At least you won’t have to live in debt any longer,” Margaery points out. “And it’s a good move career wise.” Margaery is right, but Brienne still wants to kick herself for thinking that this wouldn’t be awful, that hating him on principle — and out of self-preservation —  and ignoring his existence would be an easy feat. She curses her own stupidity. 

“He’s the single most infuriating person I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting.” She stabs at her pasta viciously, not at all imagining that it is Jaime Lannister’s stupidly beautiful face. 

“Murder is still illegal even if it’s instigated,” Margaery says with a pointed look, licking yogurt off her spoon. “And it’s hard to get blood out of carpet.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry. Brienne and Jaime's relationship is going to start looking up next chapter (: 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback! I always try to reply, and I hope that you guys are notified when I do (are you? I'm not sure). I love hearing your thoughts, and I love your analyses of what's going on. Some of you have caught some of the nuances, and it's truly delightful. I'm certainly taking your responses and ideas into account i.e. with Cersei, Tyrion, etc. 
> 
> Here's chapter four. WARNING: there's bad words in this   
> I'm really excited to share this chapter, for I think that it turned out a lot better than I anticipated. But, at the same time, I'm a little nervous to share it, as well. It's a huge pivotal moment in this fic.   
> I've also realized that my work relies heavily on dialogue.... not sure how to feel about that.... 
> 
> Classes begin again for me tomorrow, so I don't know when I'll be able to get out chapter five. It could take as long as until Friday, but could also be earlier since this week is mostly syllabus days and there shouldn't be a lot of work involved. 
> 
> Please, let me know what you think (:
> 
> \- E

When Jaime doesn’t show up on Monday, Brienne feels relieved. 

When he fails to show for two more days, she begins to wonder if he quit, and was it because of her? The scornful look on his face when he was arguing with his father pushes to the surface of her mind. Brienne wars with herself as to whether or not she should care if he quit. Part of her is delighted to finally be able to work in peace; another is concerned, for even if all he does is hurl insults at her, she almost misses him when he isn’t there. She quickly beats the latter part of her into submission. 

Thursday, the Lannister that walks into her office isn’t the one she was expecting. 

He’s a tiny, dwarf of a man, but Brienne can see the resemblance. He still assumes the supercilious attitude that Brienne has come to associate with the Lannisters and has a head of the same dark gold hair. 

“Tyrion Lannister,” he says by way of greeting, strolling toward her. “I apologize for the intrusion. You must be Ms. Tarth; I’ve heard much about you.” He stops at Jaime’s desk, picks up a lion shaped paperweight and examines it with disinterest. 

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” Brienne says, and it’s only partially a lie. Whilst the Lannister men she works with have never mentioned him, he has a reputation that precedes him — they all do. Tyrion looks up and smiles politely at her. 

“You wouldn’t have happened to have seen my darling brother, would you?” 

Brienne frowns. “No, he hasn’t been in all week.” 

Tyrion sets the paperweight back down. “Ah, well if he does show up, please inform him that I stopped by to continue our conversation from last night.” He turns to face her fully. 

“Alright.” 

He peers at her pensively, just long enough for Brienne to begin to feel uncomfortable. 

“You really do have nice eyes,” he says after a moment,  and then turns to walk away. “Have a good day, Ms. Tarth.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. Brienne calls after him as he retreats down the hallway, but he doesn’t turn back. 

* * *

 

Jaime stumbles into their office about an hour after his brother has come and gone. Brienne’s never seen him so disheveled. Granted, they haven’t worked together for very long, but the Lannisters have an illustrious reputation to uphold, and Jaime looks like he’s just rolled out of bed — rumpled forest green shirt rolled up to his elbows in sloppy, uneven cuffs, in dark colored jeans instead of slacks, his hair messy. It’s strikingly different than his perfectly pressed suits and ties, and meticulously styled hair. She didn’t think he could be any more attractive. 

Brienne flushes when she realizes that she’d been staring, annoyed at herself. 

“Where the  _ fuck _ have you been?” she blurts, irritation evident in her voice. 

“A lady really shouldn’t curse,” Jaime evades, flopping onto the couch with a gracelessness she never expected to see of him.  “It’s very unbecoming.” 

“You haven’t been here in days. Did you forget you have a job to be doing?” 

Jaime smirks. “Aw, did you miss me?” There’s a slight slur to his words.

“Of course not,” Brienne admonishes, forcing herself to turn back to her computer screen. “I’d have to actually like you in order to miss you.” 

“Ouch, you wound me.” 

The slur is still there. 

Brienne stiffens. “Are you drunk?” she asks, incredulously. 

“So what if I am?” 

Brienne stares at him, eyes wide in disbelief. 

He’s sprawled across the couch now, from end to end, hands folded across his stomach. 

“You’re at work,” she berates, “ _It’s_ _ten o’clock in the morning_.”

He just hums in agreement, doesn’t even try to defend himself. 

“Are you going to lie on the couch all day?” she asks, even though she doubts he would do any good inebriated. “We have deadlines.” 

Jaime laughs and the sound makes her stomach clench. 

“Perhaps. You know, you’re really uptight,” he says, like he’s talking about the weather. “You’d be so much more comfortable if you didn’t have such a stick up your arse.” 

Brienne didn’t think she could be anymore irritated — she was wrong. 

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she spits. 

“I could help you relax,” he offers, in the same suggestive tone he’s used before, on their first day working together. Unlike before, when Brienne meets his gaze, his eyes are unguarded; molten green and just as suggestive as his words. Brienne chokes on her own saliva. 

“You are the epitome of professionalism. It’s astounding, really.” Brienne tries to sound neutral, unaffected, but her voice sounds tight even in her own ears, trying to ignore the warmth in his eyes. Jaime smiles at her, a loose, coy grin sliding across his face. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he teases, and Brienne’s traitorous face reddens. 

Brienne sinks down in her seat, ducking behind her computer screen, and tries to obscure herself with her hair.  _ He’s just messing with you _ , she reminds herself furiously, angry that she’s let him affect her like this.  _ Men like him don’t want women like you. You’re _ not  _ a match. _

Jaime doesn’t say anything else, and after a while she’s able to almost pretend that he’s not there and go back to some semblance of productivity. 

* * *

 

Brienne’s halfway through fact checking an exp os é o n Governor Baratheon’s child abuse allegations when Jaime reminds her that he’s still there. 

“I never wanted this job,” he says, and there’s something small and morose in his tone that captures her attention. “My father wants me to take over the family businesses. I’m shit at reading, worse at writing, really. The letters all run together.”

Brienne looks over at him to find that he hasn’t moved at all. 

“You didn’t need to tell me that,” she says, “Every moment I spend with you is a testament to how shit you are at your job. I’m glad you’ve finally come to terms with that.” 

Jaime laughs, but there’s no humor in it. 

“Indulge me, would you? I’m trying to have a heart to heart here.” 

“Do you do this with all your colleagues?” she asks, “Show up drunk and tell them your life story?” There’s no heat behind her words. Brienne feels uncomfortable, a little bit panicky. Arguing with Jaime is easy, cursing him even easier, but they have no precedent for this.

“Only the ones I really like,” Jaime replies, and if it was supposed to be a joke, it doesn’t sound like one. He turns to look at her then, and Brienne is taken aback by the vulnerability she finds there. He looks skittish, almost scared, and Brienne’s heart squeezes painfully in her chest when she realizes that he  _ is _ . 

Her revelation must be plain on her face, for Jaime doesn’t wait for her to reply before continuing. “My father never approved of my passions,” he says, and pulls himself up into a sitting position, pressing his back against the arm of the couch, like he’s making himself smaller. 

“Which are what, exactly?” Brienne asks, as delicately as she can. 

“Art,” Jaime answers, “but you can’t run a multimillion dollar industry with water colors.” He’s almost spitting the words, and Brienne knows that they must be someone else’s words, not his. 

“There’s no money to be made in  _ black and white _ .” Brienne frowns. 

Whoever told him that — his father, probably — is right. People don’t want art that reminds them of their lives before color, and the ones that can’t see it won’t know if it’s colored or not. 

“I wanted to go to art school,” Jaime adds, in this low, dejected voice that makes Brienne’s heart try to force itself up her throat. How is this the same person that she wanted to murder a week ago? And why is he trusting her with this? “I got into Highgarden. My father made me turn it down; wouldn’t pay for his golden boy to throw away his legacy.” 

“I’m sorry,” she says, barely louder than a whisper. “That must have been difficult.” 

Jaime smiles at her, gnarled and despondent. 

“When did you know that you wanted to be a journalist?” 

“When I was nine,” Brienne answers, hesitating a little, uneasy with this newfound intimacy. “My father started letting me read the newspaper.” Part of her is screaming at her that she’s supposed to hate him, to protect herself, but she doesn’t listen. “There’s so much heartache in the world. I didn’t want those suffering to be overlooked.” 

Jaime’s turned toward her now with his whole body. 

“ _ I’m really sorry, Brienne _ ,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes her hold her breath. “I don’t want us to hate each other. I thought that I did, but I was misplacing my anger onto you. It wasn’t fair of me. You didn’t deserve that.” 

Brienne stares at him, and he stares back, unflinchingly. She scans his face — to see if his words match his sentiments, to see if this isn’t one of the cruelest jokes she’s ever experienced, and finds nothing amiss. There’s no laughter there; if anything, he looks as frightened as she feels. 

Brienne takes a deep breath. 

“Me too,” she finally says, and she forgets that she’s supposed to hate him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
